He Who Ganks the Ganker
by Buddy Williams
Summary: An orc learns the hard way that Hillsbrad isn't the only place with gankers. With a little help from a forsaken warrior and an unexpected ally, however, he may just be able to turn the tables. You may want to read Adventure in Alcohol first.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note- This story is half-inspired by parts of a true story

**Author's Note**- This story is half-inspired by parts of a true story. You may want to read Adventure in Alcohol before you read this, but you don't have to.

**Disclaimer**- World of Warcraft is coprywrite of Blizzard. But; Gurul, Sylvia, Edward, and this plotline are copywrite of me. So, Blizzard, if you ever use those names or this plotline in any of your lore I will sue you until you beg for mercy.

--

It was high noon in Ashenvale. A quiet stillness had descended on the forest as the chirping birds were pacified by the beating sun. A solitary deer wandered out of the thicker forest and into a small clearing, sniffing as it went. Hearing the far-off sounds of crashing and snapping limbs, the deer looked up and fixed its gaze in the direction of the disturbance. As the sounds of crashing and breaking grew rapidly closer, the deer lost its nerve and bolted off into the woods. Milliseconds later, a burly, mail-clad orc burst through the bushes. Sprinting for all he was worth, the orc crossed the clearing in seconds and plunged back into the deep forest. Jingling mail armor, snapping branches, and crunching leaves left a cacophony of noise in the warrior's wake as he plowed through the undergrowth. Weaving through a dense patch of saplings, the Orcish warrior stole a glance over his shoulder. A flash of movement in the forest behind him spurred him to run even faster.

Turning around to look ahead, he barely managed to duck under a massive arching root. He quickly recovered and continued sprinting through the undergrowth; not even noticing the clawing thorns and whipping branches. Crashing sounds of pursuit followed him closely, forcing the orc to put on an extra burst of speed. He hurtled fallen logs, plowed through thorn bushes, leaped over puddles of ensnaring mud; all in an effort to shake his pursuer. Casting another glance over his shoulder, he was horrified to see another flash of movement in the bushes. He hadn't even slowed it down! In another act of desperation, he scrambled up a small cliff face, whirled around, and threw himself against a tottering boulder. The massive rock tumbled over the edge and hurtled down into the forest. Pausing for a moment, the warrior watched the rock disappear from sight, and was rewarded with a scream of rage and pain that came from the direction the rock had tumbled.

Turning around once more, the Orcish warrior put on a fresh burst of speed, intending to outpace his pursuer once and for all. He sprinted through the forest, dodging trees, ducking branches, and leaping over roots. After what seemed like an eternity of running with no sounds of pursuit, he allowed his pace to slow to a jog, and finally to a walk. Leaning against a tree to catch his breath, the orc allowed himself a slight chuckle of relief.

Almost immediately, an arrow whizzed out of the undergrowth and buried itself in the trunk, inches from his head.  
Oaths and swears exploding from his mouth, the orc took off running once more. Panting heavily, he burst through a wall of bushes and over the edge of a small gully. He tumbled head over heels down the small gulch and landed face first in a stream. Scrambling quickly to his feet, the orc splashed across the stream and clawed up the other side of the gully. Violent splashing behind him revealed his stalker was in hot pursuit. Desperate to lose his pursuer, the orc leaped over a patch of brambles onto a fallen tree. Running the length of the massive trunk, he found himself suspended over the edge of a steep cliff dotted with vines and scrub. Whirling around, he saw the undergrowth shaking violently and crashing sounds of pursuit rapidly approaching. Turning back to face the cliff, he took a deep breath… and jumped.

He hit the cliff wall hard and rolled, sending up clouds of dust. The world was a tumbling blur of motion as he rolled down the cliff face, smashing through bushes and saplings. A tangle of vines slowed his descent enough for him to roll to his feet and continue his descent in a wild, leaping plunge toward the ground. He landed roughly on a mossy outcropping, but his momentum kept him going, sending him hurtling once more down the cliff wall. Crashing through the canopy of the trees below the cliff, the orc bashed violently into branch after branch, slowing his fall a little more each time. Eventually he landed roughly on a branch sturdy enough to bear his weight. At least, sturdy enough to bear his weight momentarily. With a loud snap, the branch broke in half, sending the orc plummeting twenty feet to the forest floor.

With a heavy crash, the orc landed in a large bush. The world swam around him as he blearily looked up through the canopy. It registered to him that it was an amazing feat that he was still conscious. Anything other than an orc would probably be either concussed or dead at this point. Staggering weakly to his feet, the orc looked around at his surroundings. He was near the coast, where the forest started to thin out. He needed cover, and he needed it fast. Looking across a large clearing, he saw a rocky outcropping with several trees growing out of it. It was the best option he had. Steeling himself, the orc charged across the large clearing, looking all around as he did. The area appeared to be deserted. Time seemed to stretch into eternity as he sprinted across the clearing. When he finally made it to the outcropping, he bounded onto a group of boulders, vaulted over a massive root, then scrambled backwards madly and hid inside the small alcove the arching root created.

For an immeasurable time, the only sounds to be heard were the chirping of birds and the Orcish warrior's own light panting. Eventually, when he judged sufficient time had passed, the orc let out a sigh of relief and leaned back against the alcove wall. Just then, two black chain boots smashed into the ground in front of him. The orc looked up in horror; directly in front of him stood a night elf foe of obvious superiority. His armor was chain as black as night, with white-hot magical enchantments burning across its surface. His shoulders were adorned with armor cut into the likeness of dragon's mouths, with fel mist oozing from between their teeth. Spikes and edges covered almost every inch of the Night Elf's suit, and his face was obscured by a soulless, black faceplate. Behind him, a massive and powerful bear snarled and gouged at the ground with its claws.

With slow and deliberate resolution, the night elf drew a fiendishly ornate bow from his back and nocked an arrow. Drawing the bow back to its maximum curve, the Night Elf aimed directly at the Orc's chest. The Orcish warrior did the only thing he could think to do: raise a finger in the universal, cross-cultural, gesture of defiance. It was his last living action.

--

Once more, the world slowly came into focus for the orc. Looking around, he noticed he was now standing in a graveyard. He also appeared to be dead. The orc groaned in frustration. His name was Gurul Battlelust, and this was the sixteenth time he'd been killed by that Night Elf. Looking up at the Spirit Healer, he sighed.

"You can go ahead and bring me back here. I give up."

"Are you sure? Your weapons and armor will take damage and you will suffer fro-"

"Yeah, yeah." The Orc said, waving away her warnings, "I don't care, just bring me back."

"Very well," the Spirit Healer replied.

Abruptly, the shadowy translucence of the Spirit World solidified into the firmness of Azeroth; the ground of which Gurul promptly vomited all over.

"Damned resurrection sickness," He muttered, wiping his mouth and staggering off towards Splintertree Post. It would be a long time before he was prepared to do anything beyond drinking heavily and taking a nap.

--

**Author's Note**-

Really, it wouldn't take long.

Even a retarded monkey can do it.

Very much joy will be brought by it.

It helps my self-esteem.

Entire careers are built around it.

Word that starts with "W".


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**- Ze seecond chaptér eez up for your veewing pleesure.

--

Gurul sat in the far corner of the Splintertree Post inn, nursing a tankard of ale. He had come to Ashenvale as an eager young novice, willing and able to help the Horde in any way possible. However, being killed sixteen times in a row by a hunter with more skill and experience in his little toe than you could have after months of training has a way of jading someone. The scenario ran itself over in his mind. He had been with a small group; a mage and a paladin, both blood elves. They had been given an assignment involving the extermination of some Thistlefur furbolgs and had just gotten to the Thistlefur encampment.

Unfortunately, the encampment was occupied by something far more deadly than furbolgs. The hunter had been there, standing in the middle of the camp like he knew they were coming. Chaos had ensued. His group had immediately split up, but to no avail. He had seen the mage fall, an arrow lodged in her back. The Paladin had been next to go, the hunter's bear almost cutting him in half. He had been killed seconds later and hadn't seen them since. Fifteen deaths later he found himself here, this time being killed slowly by alcohol instead of quickly by arrows. He took a deep pull from his tankard to banish the dismal memories.

After a long time of drunken solitude, his brooding was interrupted by someone pulling up a chair and sitting across from him. He wearily looked up at the new arrival. On the other side of the table sat a forsaken woman, smiling with what he assumed was supposed to be cheer.

"What do you need?" He asked her.

"Eh, I was feeling lonely, and depressed drunks usually make good company, so I thought I'd come on over," she answered cheerily.

Gurul gave her a flat stare.

"Or, it may be because you looked so full of angst that I figured you could use some cheering up."

"Coming from one of your ilk, that's something."

The forsaken woman raised an eyebrow, "Woah there, friend, no need to bring race into this."

Gurul snorted.

"Here, let's try this again," the forsaken woman said, offering her hand, "Hi, my name is Sylvia Hastan, what's yours?"

Gurul shook his head bemusedly, "My name is Gurul Battlelust," he said, reaching out and shaking her extended hand.

"Well, Gurul, what seems to be bothering you today?"

Gurul sighed, "...I was killed..."

"Really?!" the undead woman gasped in pseudo-horror, "Killed? Oh, that must have been awful! I just can't imagine how horrible it must have been to die, having never experienced anything like that, ever!"

"… sixteen times," he finished.

Sylvia paused, "... As in, by monsters, or demons, or –"

"By a night elf. The same night elf. Every single time."

"Ouch."

"Yeah," Gurul muttered, "Ouch."

An awkward silence fell between the two. After several moments, Sylvia cleared her throat and spoke up.

"We have a word for that in Gutterspeak," Sylvia mused, "it's called being 'ganked'. In Orcish, I suppose it would translate to something roughly along the lines of 'getting the piss beat out of you by someone leagues ahead of you in skill and experience over and over again until you lose all will to live'."

Gurul grunted, "Yeah, that sounds about right."

After a lengthy pause, Sylvia spoke up again, "So, where did all of this take place, exactly?"

Gurul shrugged, "Northwest of here, around Thistlefur hold."

Sylvia smiled, "Well, how about this: I'm waiting for someone to show up, but they won't get here for quite a while. However, in the meantime I have this assignment to gather Satyr horns to the East. Think a job well done will cheer you up?"

Gurul grunted, "No."

"There's some really good rewards to choose from-" Sylvia continued.

"No."

"We'll get paid for doing it-" she persisted.

"No."

"You're being a real bastard."

Gurul couldn't help it; he chuckled, "Alright, alright, fine. Who knows, maybe a job well done really will cheer me up."

"That's the spirit!" she crowed, jumping up and clapping him on the back.

Gurul once again shook his head bemusedly as he rose to follow her. Another assignment might just take his mind off of his troubles. He just hoped that it was far enough East that that hunter didn't appear once again.

--

It was only a few minutes into their assignment and Gurul was already impressed with this forsaken woman, Sylvia. They were both warriors, but the similarities ended there. Where Gurul preferred to focus on heavy defense and sword and shield combat, Sylvia was all about straight up, in-your-face punishment. She wielded two swords at once and struck with a combination of deadly efficiency and stunning grace. He hadn't expected rotting muscles and stiffened joints to allow her to actually_ flip_ through the air when she delivered her attacks. Perhaps there was much less rot and decay occurring than he had assumed.

However, as yet another Satyr fell before his blade; Gurul appreciated his own style of combat. What he lacked in grace, he more than made up for in sheer power and force; sundering his enemies' armor with powerful blows and beating them senseless with his shield.

"Okay, okay, this time I'll win for sure," Sylvia said, as she bent down and grabbed one of the horns of the recently slain Satyr. Gurul chuckled at the macabre game she had invented; it was kind of like wishbones, only you broke the horns off the skulls of dead Satyrs instead of snapping a wishbone in half.

"One… two… three!" she cried, and yanked on the horn.

Gurul pulled on the other horn in return, and the two snapped off the Satyr's skull. Holding the two together, it was clear that Gurul's had snapped off closer to the base, and was a few inches longer.

"Damn it!" Sylvia cried, "I never win. This game sucks."

Gurul chuckled, "You're pulling too hard; if you let the other person do most of the work, you almost always get the longer half."

"Whatever," Sylvia muttered as Gurul stood up and looked over at another band of Satyrs.

"Gurul?" She suddenly asked from behind him.

"Yes?" he replied, still facing the Satyrs.

"That hunter you were talking about… did he happen to be garbed in chain armor black as night that burned with white hot enchantments?"

Gurul hesitated, "…Yes."

"Okay, and did he have shoulder armor fashioned to look like dragonheads with fel mist seeping out from between their teeth?"

"He did."

"I see, and was his armor covered in spikes and edges, with a soulless, black faceplate covering his head?"

Gurul stiffened, "Yes."

"Ah. Well, I think that's him over there then."

Slowly, Gurul turned around to look at where she was pointing. Standing in the shadow of a clearing, staring menacingly at the two of them, was the hunter himself.

Gurul tensed, ready to run.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Sylvia said lightly.

Gurul looked at her incredulously, "Why not? Do you have a death wish?"

The undead woman snickered, "Good one."

"I wasn't making a joke!" Gurul protested.

"In any case, running would be pointless. He probably has a mount, and even if he doesn't, he's a hunter; he could track us down and find us no matter where we hide."

"So, what then? We just lay down and die?" Gurul demanded.

Sylvia tapped her chin in thought, "Not necessarily. I think I have an idea."

With that, she unslung her backpack and rummaged around for a few seconds. Finding what she was looking for, she withdrew an ancient-looking libram.

"Here goes nothing," she said, and made several obscure gestures over the book.

Almost instantly, the libram exploded into golden light and floated into the air. Opening itself to a certain page, the book sent out a powerful pulse wave of holy light. Gurul watched eagerly as the pulse spread out, straight for the hunter. The hunter steeled himself and braced against the coming pulse of light… only for it to pass right through him, doing no damage. Gurul's face fell.

"But… but, I thought…" Gurul protested.

"Perfect," Sylvia said, "Now we just need to not die."

But the hunter was already striding toward them, drawing his bow as he approached.

Gurul groaned, "And just how do you plan on doing that?"

"Uuuh…" Sylvia looked around desperately, "Ahah!"

Bending down, she scooped three decent sized rocks off of the ground, and began juggling them and making cheesy circus noises. "Come one, come all, see the amazing Sylvia! Duh Duh Duhnanana Duh Duh Duhnah!"

Gurul was flabbergasted. Apparently, though, the hunter was too. He stood there, bow lax at his side, as the undead woman juggled rocks.

"But what's this? Oh, my! She's juggling around a leg!" Sylvia said, as she proceeded to do so. The hunter simply stared in baffled confusion as she continued to juggling behind her back and juggling while tossing the rocks very high. Finally, the hunter began to show signs of impatience and irritation. Sensing this, Sylvia quickly whispered to Gurul.

"Quick, Gurul, you have to do something, I'm losing him!"

"I can't! I don't know what to do!" he hissed back.

"You must have something you can do!" she insisted.

"Well… I can dance… a little." He muttered.

"Good!" She said, "Do that!"

Gurul gulped, "Well, here goes nothing," he said to himself.

Just as the hunter was beginning to raise his bow once more, Gurul burst into the dance he had spent hours perfecting. Lunging backwards, he planted his hand on the ground behind him, only to spring back up again. Setting up a rhythm and beat in his mind, he exploded into motion. He seemed to be walking backwards, but never moved and inch, pumping his arms and rotating his body to his own personal beat.

"Woooo! Go Gurul!" Sylvia cheered.

The hunter was once again, completely confused.

Allowing himself to become more absorbed in the dance, Gurul spun in several circles, finishing with a clap and immediately burst back into dance. He seemed to glide across the ground, left then right then back again, his hands on his hips.

"Can't touch this!" he cried.

His movements kicked into higher gear, his feet flying across the ground without ever propelling him forward, and his arms and shoulders pumping to the beat. His dance was interrupted, however, when the hunter let out a roar of rage and pointed at them, causing them both to freeze in place.

"I don't think he's in the mood for distractions anymore," Sylvia said.

Gurul said nothing. For all her efforts to help him, she had just gotten both him and herself killed. Well, at least her heart had been in the right place. Gurul fixed his gaze on the hunter before him, ready to face death once more.

--

The hunter looked on with sadistic pleasure at his two targets. One was that foolish orc that he'd already killed so very many times, but the second was a new one. An undead female he hadn't seen before. Elune willing though, he would see her many more times as he killed her over and over again. Drawing two arrows, he nocked them both, preparing to eliminate the two Horde monsters with a single shot. It was then, just as he prepared to shoot, that he heard a human voice behind him.

"Excuse me, sir."

Snarling, he whipped around to face the human behind him. It was a paladin, and a powerful one at that. His armor was a brilliant gold plate, and light shone out from the armor on his shoulders.

"What is it?" the hunter snapped, "I'm a little busy at the moment, if you hadn't noticed. The forest needs cleansing of their kind of filth," he said, gesturing at the orc and forsaken.

"Well," the paladin continued, "I was going to suggest that you pick on people of your own level of skill."

The hunter stared at the paladin incredulously, "…What?"

"In other words," the paladin said, "leave them alone."

The hunter narrowed his eyes, "Who are you?"

"My name is Edward. Edward Stryker."

"Well, Edward," the hunter said, "What do you plan to do if I decide not to stop?"

"In that case," Edward responded, drawing a massive, golden war hammer, "I plan on _making_ you stop."


	3. Chapter 3

For what seemed like the umpteenth time that day, Gurul stared incredulously at the events unfolding before him. Just as the hunter had been about to finish them off, an equally skilled and equipped human paladin had shown up out of the blue and began converseing in Common with him. Gurul cursed his feeble grasp of Common; he had no idea what the two were saying.

"Sylvia," he whispered to her, "The two of them appear to be distracting each other, if we act quickly, I think we can make a break for it."

"Are you kidding me?" Sylvia grinned, "It's just starting to get good." Turning to face the two Alliance, she called out to the paladin, "Hey good looking, there's a damsel in distress over her that needs rescuing."

In response, the paladin inclined his head in Sylvia's direction and gave a jaunty wink.

Gurul had to bend down to pick his jaw up from where it had dropped.

"W-What? He… but… he _winked_!? But don't paladins…? aren't they supposed too…? Huh?"

Sylvia grinned even wider and made shushing motions with her hands, "Shhhh, look, Mr. Hunter doesn't look to happy about this turn of events."

--

Edward squared off against the hunter, his hammer held menacingly in his hands.

"So," he said, "do you intend to do this the easy way or the hard way?"

The hunter was silent for a moment, and then shook his head with obvious scorn.

"Your actions are taking you down a road you cannot turn back on," he snarled, "I have no goodwill towards traitors to the Alliance."

Edward rolled his eyes, "Please, by most definitions of 'Traitor to the Alliance', Jania Proudmoore is a traitor."

"And if she is, she will receive the same treatment as you," the night elf spat, "Now, I'm going to finish off this scum. Try to stop me and I assure you, the consequences will be severe."

With blinding speed, he re-nocked both arrows, overdrew the bow, and sent the twin razor-tipped shafts shooting towards the Horde warriors. However, before the arrows could reach their targets, two golden shields of holy light surrounded them, causing the arrows to bounce harmlessly to the ground.

"TRAITOR!" the elf roared, whipping around to face Edward.

Almost immediately, arrows were flying at the paladin with blinding speed and unerring accuracy. From behind the hunter, a massive bear exploded from the woods and charged Edward head on, responding to his master's call. Thinking quickly, Edward raised his arms and let his plate armor absorb most of the arrows' damage. Unfortunately, there was little his plate could do about several hundred pounds of bear crashing into him. He was sent crashing to the ground, rolling and brawling, trying to avoid piercing teeth and ripping claws. The hunter stood back, unable to get a clear shot between his pet and the paladin. His problem was solved when the paladin, filled with holy energy, hurled the bear off of himself and into a tree. With blinding speed, the hunter fired an envenomed arrow, aiming at the chinks in the paladin's armor. Edward whirled to face the hunter just as the arrow connected, its poison spreading like fire through his veins.

Acting quickly, he called upon the cleansing power of the light and abolished the venom in his blood. Enraged, the hunter fired more arrows at him, but Edward shrugged off the impacts, hefting his war hammer and charging the elf. Bending down, the hunter placed something on the ground, then turned tail and ran. Quickly skidding to a halt, Edward tried to maneuver around the trap the hunter had surely placed. A sharp click told him he was unsuccessful. Instantly, dozens of snakes burst from the ground, springing at the surprised paladin. Leaping backwards, Edward smashed his hammer into the ground and consecrated it with holy light. The snakes were seared and killed immediately almost immediatly.

Looking back to the hunter, Edward saw he was lining up a precisely aimed shot, intending to finish him off once and for all. Behind him, he heard the hunter's bear recover and begin to charge him once more. Fixing his gaze on the hunter, Edward waited for the right moment. The hunter twitched, preparing to release the arrow.

Edward acted immediately.

Throwing himself to the side, he avoided the razor-tipped shaft of death. The hunter's arrow shot through the space Ed had just occupied and continued on, nailing the charging bear right between the eyes. The beast was dead before it hit the ground.

Roaring in rage, the hunter let loose a literal stream of arrows at Edward, who quickly threw up a shield of golden light and charged the elf. Broken shafts and points littered the ground as arrow after arrow shattered against his shield. Heavy plate boots pounded into the ground as he charged, swinging his war hammer in a wide arc. The hammer impacted brutally with the hunter's ribcage, sending him flying across the clearing and searing him with holy energy.

Recovering with a roll, the hunter placed another trap on the ground and continued to back off. Rushing toward the elf, Edward inadvertently set off the trap, covering the ground in slick frost and making movement difficult. Strafing around the impaired paladin, the hunter shot arrow after arrow into his prone form, piercing the chinks in his golden plate armor.

Edward realized he was fading fast. Drawing inward with spiritual focus, he called upon the healing power of the light. Oblivious to the arrows piercing his flesh, he called forth a flash of healing power upon himself, sealing his wounds and revitalizing his spirit. Then, raising his hammer to the heavens, Edward called upon the power of the Light. He intended to finish this battle. Seeing him preparing for a final assault, the hunter once again lined up a precisely aimed shot, nature magic swirling around the tip of his arrow.

As his hammer shone brilliantly with holy power, Edward reared back and hurtled it with all his might. At the same instant, the hunter released his arrow. The two projectiles hurtled across the clearing at each other; divine wrath and nature's fury clashing head-on. For the briefest instant, the two collided and held each other in place, the magical power behind them urging them on. Then, with an explosion of light, Edward's hammer shattered the hunter's arrow and hurtled onward toward the dismayed elf. The hammer collided with a blast of holy energy, sending him skidding across the ground.

Grinding to a stop in the middle of the clearing, the severely weakened elf looked up to see Edward approaching. Struggling to his knees, the elf addressed the human paladin.

"You have bested me this time, but do not be deceived. Word of your deeds will spread and others will hunt you down. You will be punished for your traitorous ways," the night elf gasped.

"Anyone coming after me with the same intentions you have, will meet the same fate you have," Edward responded.

The elf spat, "Finish me then, give me the right of an honorable death."

Edward shouldered his war hammer, "Sorry, but I don't take requests. I'm not going to kill you."

The hunter's angry protest was cut off when a sword sliced through the air behind him and removed his head from his shoulders. The decapitated head landed with a thunk on the ground, the elf's shocked expression frozen on his face as his kneeling body toppled to the side.

Edward sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Sylvia, however, probably will."

"Woohoo! I got him!" She cried.

Leaning down, she picked up the hunter's head and held it out before her, "Alas! So passeth a mighty warrior; truly, if misguidedly, dedicated to his cause. I knew him, Gurul."

Edward shook his head, "Sylvia, what did I tell you about desecrating corpses?"

"Oh, all right," She muttered, tossing the head over her shoulder.

Gurul was more confused than he had been in a very long time. He was certainly grateful that the hunter was dead, but the means by which it had happened was making his head hurt.

"Oh, silly me," Sylvia exclaimed, "I forgot to make introductions. Edward, this is Gurul Battlelust," she said, then slid over to the paladin and threw her arm around his shoulders, "And Gurul, this handsome man is Edward Stryker, paladin of the Light."

"Greetings, Gurul," Edward said in rough Orcish.

Once again, Gurul had to pick his jaw up from where it dropped.

"You… him… enemies… not… How!?" He spluttered.

"Well," Edward responded, "That's a rather long story –"

"You see, Gurul," Sylvia interrupted, "When a paladin and a forsaken are both very, very drunk – "

"No! No no no no no! I take it back, I don't want to know!" Gurul exclaimed.

Edward chuckled, "I suppose that's understandable, I wasn't too thrilled at first either." Gesturing at the dead hunter, he continued, "I hope this fellow didn't give you too much trouble."

"He killed Gurul sixteen times," Sylvia offered.

Edward's gaze hardened, "Then he's a far more twisted person than I had originally thought."

Opening a pouch on his belt, he extracted a small, silver symbol of the Light and handed it to Gurul.

"If he or anyone else like him decides to give you trouble, hold this and call out for me. If I'm within fifty leagues of you, I'll hear it and come to help."

"Wait, he gets a cool metal symbol and I get this big, clunky book? What's up with that?" Sylvia demanded.

Edward smirked, "Trust me, the 'big, clunky book' will probably come in handy eventually."

"Well, I suppose I could hit someone with it…" she mused.

Edward smiled, "That's the spirit." Turning to Gurul, he addressed the Orcish warrior, "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Gurul, but Sylvia and I have business elsewhere."

"Do I _have_ to meet your mother?" Sylvia whined, "Really, I'm sure not meeting her would be a very good idea. Just in case you haven't noticed; I'm kinda, well... not... alive... no-more."

Edward laughed and summoned his war-horse, "Yes, you do. The consequences would be much worse for the both of us if she found out I hadn't told her," he said as he climbed into the saddle.

"Alright, fine," Sylvia muttered as he hoisted her up behind himself.

"Farewell, Gurul, and may your blades never dull," Edward grinned, and spurred his mount onward.

"See you later Gurul," Sylvia called over her shoulder, "And remember; stay optimistic!"

Gurul stared in befuddlement and waved insecurely as the two rode off into the forest. As the beating of hooves faded away, silence once again fell upon the forest. Shaking his head in wonder, Gurul turned to go. He took about five steps; then abruptly stopped. Turning around, he trudged towards the corpse of the decapitated hunter. Several moments passed as he stared at his fallen foe. Suddenly, he drew back his foot and kicked the dead hunter savagely in the ribs.

END.

--

**Endnote-** Well, there you have it. I'm sorry if you're hopelessly confused by Sylvia and Edward. Read Adventure in Alcohol for some background on those two.

Every time a reader doesn't review, a puppy dies. Remember that.


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